Ellie's Voice

© 2025 by Grace Ann Hansen

“Come on, up and at ‘em!” Paul yelled as he banged on his son’s door, eliciting a tired groan from the twenty-year-old. “Just ‘cause football’s one step closer ta comin’ home, it doesn’t mean ya can lay around all day!”

“Yes, yes, okay,” the young man grunted through the door as he threw back the covers and sat upright, brushing his messy hair out of his face and shielding his eyes from the bright summer Sun.

“Same goes for you, Luke!” Paul yelled as he banged on his other son’s door.

The room was bathed in pastel pink tones, with airy curtains letting in the afternoon light. The floor was covered in colorful wigs, sparkly shoes, brushes, and children's makeup. Sitting on the edge of the bed, eight-year-old Tomás held the straps of a lavender glittering dress in both hands, looking at himself with a mix of wonder and longing.

Sis owned a security company doing certain surveillance jobs as requested or needed. Most of the time it was just following someone and making sure they did not get them selves in trouble. Most of the people she was paid to keep track of were fairly high profile, so were instant targets for news media and other individuals who had varied and nefarious reasons to exploit those people.

Quite often I got invited along, two people out wandering along not standing out like an individual would be. In this particular case me being along saved the day.

“So… exactly how many high school fantasies are we fulfilling right now?” Paul asks as I tune my bass guitar, and I can’t help but smirk as I can already guess how the impending argument will go.

“Bit inappropriate to ask about MY high school fantasies, but I’ll let it slide,” Stuart replies, and I sense my opportunity to chip in.

“If it helps, Paul, I’m wondering the same thing,” I say, chuckling at the mock-offended look on my mentor’s face.

“…Okay, yes, every music student dreams of playing in a garage band in an actual garage,” Stuart concedes.

A Hillbilly Funeral 
by
Rebecca Anna Coleman
Part Three of Three

I found my uncle stumbling around the small bathroom of the church. He was drunk as a jude, and the moment he spotted me out of the corner of his beady eyes he stumbled toward me. His eyes were glazed over and his breath reeked of cheap, corn whiskey. When he was mere inches from me, he reached out and placed both of his hands upon my shoulder. 

Two lonely high school students walk parallel paths.  One, impoverished and losing hope, yearns desperately to become their authentic self. The other, wealthy and the victim of unfathomable manipulation, resists changing to something they never wanted to be. Can these two, meeting amidst the clatter and chatter of the school cafeteria, find connection? Can they embrace their fractured selves and each other and then become whole? Or will a duplicitous villainess, in the guise of a loving mother, destroy their fragile hope and leave them living a miserable, incomplete existence?

A Hillbilly Funeral
by
Rebecca Anna Coleman
Part Two of Three

Unable to find a job after flunking out of high school, my Mom had given me several accounts in her cleaning business. All three were nightclubs, the cleaning had to be done in the early morning hours since the club was open late afternoon and evening till 2 A.M.

The job was not hard, me being eighteen allowed me to work at the club because they sold alcohol. Most of Mom’s other employees either too old to work early in the morning or too young to be in the club.

Another fight with my wife, the couch probably where I will spend the night, a fate that has happened more often than I cared for recently. This time, we had just got comfortable watching a chick flick on the T.V. when I reached over to massage her breasts. She was cradled in my arms sitting directly in front of me. It was only logical for me to reach around her to fondle her breasts.

I was dropping off my wife at her beauty salon, a sudden need to use the bathroom causing me to go in with her, so I could use their facilities. It was sudden, like one minute everything was fine, the next I had to go real bad. It felt like I was leaking a little as I walked towards the restroom, trying to hold my legs together to keep from letting go. I paused at the door, both gender symbols displayed on the same door.

As I entered the house Linda was still at her sewing machine working on another dress design. I was just getting home from work, two hours later than normal. I knew better than to bother her right now, her hobby means a lot to her. Especially since she now has somebody interested in her dress designs.